Not for All the Tea in China
by Endril McMerlyn
Summary: We all know that the movie is not the first time Jack has been caught. He bears a brand on his arm to prove it. This is the story of Jack Sparrow's little brush with the East Indian Trading Company. Possible swearing? Mostly not angst except in prolouge.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sadly. Not even Johnny Depp. A friend thinks I should get this looked into. 

  


Author's note: This is important, if you could take a sec. ^_^ This here is a prologue to the story I have described in the summary. It is *not* an angsty fanfic like I usually write. I have an... angst obsession, and I am expanding my writing, as this idea was not meant to be angst in the first place. So I thought I'd get most of it all out of the way in the beginning. It is very similar to_ All in a Name_, if you read that, and I am sorry about that. But anyhow, this is the introduction to "A Brush with the East Indian Trading Company," so read and enjoy, and I'll do my best!

Prologue: A Life About to Start

He was sailing the Sea again. The realisation hit him harder than he'd expected. Physically he had felt it all– the gentle rock of the ship beneath him, lulling him into the soft rhythm of the waves and the ship in harmony. He had felt the salty spray on his skin, the cool Caribbean breeze brushing past with it's scent of salt and sea and far-off lands. For long he had been convincing himself that he would never get that chance again, and so it hadn't registered right away. He had spent so long protecting himself from what had been dreams that when it finally became reality, he hadn't been able to accept it.

Now, however, Jack was in his element. True, he didn't have his crew, his best friend, or his Pearl. But Jack had spent a year lost, not knowing where to turn, where to go, unsure of his place in the world and what was worth living for. Now he could live again. He knew that now. He had been hopelessly lost once, but no longer.

He knew how it had been, how it must have looked to others. Those who had known him had, after trying their best to offer anything they could, comfort, shelter, anything, had finally had to pull away. They had seen that there was no reaching Jack. They only person that could reach him, pull him out of the abyss, was himself. They could only stand back and watch wide-eyed as a they watched someone they thought they had known, someone once full of life, deteriorate before their eyes. To them, he had finally fallen far too well into his role of "Mad Captain." No longer was this ruin someone they could touch. 

Jack had finally seen the light. He was bloody Captain Jack Sparrow. Crew or no crew. Pearl or no Pearl. He was still a pirate, and he still had the sea. The Sea was in his blood, and even in his dark time, at risk of losing his very self, had She still called to him. Jack looked at the light reflecting off the waves now. Perhaps it had been the Sea which had finally called him back after all. He had been fading, but giving up was not something Captain Jack Sparrow did. The Jack Sparrow of a year ago would have laughed at such an idea. Bootstrap would have laughed. This... wraith-like shadow of a man the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow?

One year ago, Jack would have answered that with dull eyes. He would have told anyone who asked, who pleaded, that _that_ Jack Sparrow had died. He had died that day he lost what he treasured most, the day he had been left to die, and he would never again return to this Earth. But that was over now, a weaker man that Jack had finally managed to shrug off. Every man had his hour of darkness, his weakness. Jack's had nearly taken him over, and Jack had very nearly given in. Too close.

Ah, but he had been wrong about it all! Jack Sparrow was not dead... no. He had been lost for awhile, but found again. Captain Jack Sparrow was alive. He could feel the pulse of his blood in his veins echoing in the beat of his heart, the cold rush of salty air as it rushed into his lungs. Oh yes, Captain Jack Sparrow was very much alive.

Perhaps it was revenge. Jack's hand went unconsciously to his waist where his pistol hung at his belt. It was cold to the touch, smooth. Inside lay one single bullet. A bullet meant for one man and one man alone. Oh yes, revenge was definently a part of what had pulled him back to reality. But not all. Jack knew too well what an obsession with revenge could do. He had seen too many a man destroyed by their desperate need for revenge. It was all they thought of, until they ate, drank, slept, and breathed revenge. It consumed them completely, until it was no longer about revenge anymore. By the time it was carried out, they had nothing left to live for– along side their enemy they had succeeded in destroying themselves, a large price to pay. 

Jack did not want to become that. He had already come too close to destroying himself, and he would not let that happen again, ever. He would not be those men. He knew that to do so was to let Barbossa win. His survival was already revenge, rising up against the shadow that had overcome him, a shadow Barbossa had counted on. Barbossa had known that if Jack survived that island, what would happen. He, like Jack, had seen one too many ruined men. Barbossa would pay for what he had done to Jack, for taking the Pearl, but Jack would do it his way. He had always done things his way, and this was no different.

Alive. A strange grin spread itself over Jack's face as he squinted in the sunlight. It felt good. Too long had he been consumed by that sense of helplessness. Too long had he been away from the Sea. Too long had he allowed himself to believe that the end of his time as Captain of the Pearl meant the end of him. Around the Caribbean he was a legend of sorts– and Jack had, in a sense, enjoyed that. That legend had faded, but not disappeared. Jack would go back to doing what he was best at. Having fun with life. Feeding that legend unintentionally, as the legend fed itself.

Jack let the wind envelop him in it's scent and coolness, watched as it caught up in the billowing sails of his newly stolen ship, taking him out to his one true love. Nay, not stolen. His "commandeered," Jack thought with a wide grin, his gold teeth glinting in the sunlight. Jack had regained life, and was not about to let it slip past him again. 

In the distance he saw a ship. He smiled in anticipation. Had he had been looking for it? Even he didn't know for sure. He was going to have a bit of fun. He was still a pirate, a scallywag. That hadn't changed. He was the same as he'd always been, a little older and wiser, but still the same. He took chances. After all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow.


End file.
